


Wankru

by sorchanib (orphan_account)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bellamy Blake & Clarke Griffin are Best Friends, F/F, F/M, Gen, Grounder Clarke Griffin, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Mount Weather, Post-Season/Series 02, Slow Burn, fuck the ark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-08-21 08:10:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16572845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/sorchanib
Summary: After the fall of Mount Weather, Clarke and the remaining members of the original 100 return to Camp Jaha. It seems, however, that all is not forgiven and the Arkers cannot let go of the "delinquent" status of the 100, in spite of the fact that they depend on the skills of their young "criminals" to survive. Pushed to the limit, Clarke leads her people away from the Ark and from the reach of Lexa's coalition to begin a new life at the edge of the Dead Zone. Life is tough, but this tenacious group (under Clarke's now recognised visionary and pretty uncontested leadership) slowly begin to thrive... until, almost four years after the fall of Mount Weather, a Trikru messenger approaches from the east.





	Wankru

**Now**

Clarke gazed out over the terrain in front of her. Even though she led their ragtag group of Skai survivors, that didn’t mean she shirked the duties that everyone was expected to undertake. She rubbed her eyes tiredly and squinted through the rising dust of dawn at the edge of the Dead Zone. Attacks from bandits living precariously in the deserts were not unusual and Clarke and her group had to be vigilant always. If Mount Weather and the immediate aftermath had taught them anything, it was that the remainder of the hundred young prisoners – 48 including Clarke – could rely on no one but themselves. Having Lincoln and Nyko with them was an obvious boon and their knowledge had saved their lives numerous times in the past three years. _Three years_ , Clarke thought. The events of that night in the mountain ( which was almost four years ago now) continued to pervade her thoughts, but she had learned, over time, to compartmentalise them for the most part. After all, what she had done had been done for her people, the _kru_ that were with her still. _Wankru_.

\-----

**Then**

_Clarke gripped tightly to the gun still in her hand – the gun that had murdered Dante Wallace and put a bullet through the head of Carl Emerson a mere hour before when, enraged, he attacked the returning cavalcade of Sky people from a gutted mountain. Clarke thought to herself that the raised, rough pattern of the gun’s grip pads would be forever engraved into the skin of her palms, like the kill marks the Grounders bore upon their shoulders and backs. Maybe the tiny dots in that pattern could account for all of the lives that Clarke felt responsible for. Internally, Clarke snorted. Doubtful. After Lexa’s betrayal at the mountain, Clarke’s tolerance for the traditions and beliefs of the grounders was wavering. She worried about how she could ever broker peace with a people whose conceptions of honour and dishonour seemed so inextricable to her mind. Clarke knew that this was her “weakness” talking, as Lexa would have it, but fuck it. She didn’t care. If the last 48 hours had taught Clarke anything, it was to ignore everything Lexa told her, for her motto seemed to be “do as I say, not as I do”._

_Two days after their return to Camp Jaha and Clarke despaired. Kane and her mother (from her sick bed) were in constant argument over the direction that the camp should take. No one seemed capable of making the decisions that needed to be made, even though her mother was the official chancellor at this point, and Clarke herself was certainly in no position to do so, at least not for everybody. Her days were spent with her 47 and Lincoln, building huts and trying to make shelter for the colder months that Lincoln assured her were on the way. It was becoming clear, too, how little trust or respect the rest of the people of the Ark had for the 47. Apparently, masterminding their survival and taking down the mountain was not enough to earn that._

_Clarke herself found that she was watched with suspicion, avoided by those amongst the Arkers who could not reconcile the daughter of Abby Griffin with the sullen, moonshine-drinking and hardened young adult who now seemed to be making decisions for them. Resentment continued to brew and Clarke could not find the will within to give a shit about the concerns of the older Arkers and those dissenters who resented the very presence of the 47 and of Lincoln._

_Bellamy tried his best to fit in at first, doing the bidding of Kane and Abby and trying to broker yet another “peace” between the 47 and the rest of the Ark. More and more, though, the remaining delinquents found themselves ostracised and began to embrace the very different identity that they were beginning to find themselves inhabiting in their minds – neither Skaikru nor Grounder. While they, under Clarke’s leadership and Lincoln’s teaching, learned to hunt and prepare for the months ahead while building shelters and stores for what would be needed, the rest of the Arkers retreated inside the hulking remains of the spaceship that was their home in the sky, depending upon the precarious life support it could offer. Of course, Clarke thought, the hypocrisy lay in their willingness, even demands, to share in the hunting spoils that she and the others returned with. Apparently, this was to be the debt that they paid to society whilst living as second class citizens. Kane and Abby did not intervene and were, it became clear, of similar opinion. Clarke suspected that part of this was a power play by her mother._

_The winter months proved even more difficult than foreseen. The Grounders kept their distance. Octavia’s early trip to the remains of Ton DC succeeded in bartering a temporary “understanding” in place of the old alliance: the Sky People would stay out of the Grounders way and vice versa. It was not a lasting solution, but it would do for the winter. Nobody wanted to fight a war in the snow and wind. For herself, Clarke spent the winter immersing herself in training with Lincoln and Octavia, with whom she seemed to have reached a détente exclusive to them. Octavia’s grudge over Ton DC had not subsided. It bubbled below the surface and manifested in the heavy blows she dealt Clarke on the training ground. Clarke didn’t mind. Her shame in following Lexa’s lead at Ton DC meant that she saw her punishment from Octavia as just and logical. Also, she thought wryly, if it helped Octavia to move on, so be it. She could handle a few flesh wounds, especially if it meant that she would be able to handle herself in a battle with a grounder warrior in the future. She was no fool and knew that conflicts were likely when the weather began to improve._

_Clarke and the 47 never got to see this eventuality. For the uneasy status quo in Camp Jaha deteriorated once the adults began to emerge from their indoor hibernation at the end of winter._

_\---_

**Now**

“Clarke.”

Bellamy’s hand gently shook her shoulder as Clarke’s desert trance broke. She blinked the heavy, shimmery haze of the early morning sun from her tired eyes and smiled blearily at her comrade.

“Get some sleep. You’re leading that foraging trip to the old airport this afternoon and that is gonna be heavy going.” Clarke nodded.

“No probs, Bell. Thanks.” She turned to go, but turned around at the last moment. “Any communications I should know of?”

“Nothing.”

 

Clarke trudged through the scrubland that led to their settlement and towards her hut. As clan chief, her hut was a little larger than the other twenty or so huts around it, but this was only because this was where her council of generals would meet each day to discuss developments, issues, progress and security. The extra space also sometimes served as an extension of their medical hut when someone needed observation overnight. Clarke’s responsibilities were many, but at least now she was surrounded by people who knew and understood what she did for them, and their group continued to grow. Apart from the four births among her people (it had, after all, been three years since their defiant departure from Camp Jaha), a reasonably large number of outcasts from the clans had also heard about the civilised settlement at the edge of the Dead Zone. Some were outcasts due to crimes committed – something that the original 49 understood and were sympathetic to – while some had been exiled merely for being born with deformities due to radiation. Clarke discriminated against none as long as they strove to help the community. All learned quickly that Wanheda – chief of _Wankru_ – was no pushover.

 

Officially speaking, the territory that Clarke and her people now held had been a kind of no-man’s land before their arrival. The land was almost barren and it took some hard work and chemical magic from Monty and Jasper to transform the soil into viable farmland. Crops were still somewhat hit and miss but, with careful crop rotation and enrichment processes, it had proven possible. Similarly, the slow return of vegetation from the nearby forest encouraged small wildlife to the area. The first two years were hard and the people suffered from severe protein lack. When signs of scurvy began to appear, Clarke turned to Monty again, who created a chemical algae which tasted disgusting but nourished the bodies of all. It was only recently that Clarke began to allow some tentative hunting to take place, which allowed her people a break from algae one or two days per week.

 

Their settlement was nestled not far from what Clarke knew was once the Potomac River, far to the northwest of Ton DC and away from the clan lands of Lexa’s coalition. When Clarke and her people left Camp Jaha, she knew that they would need to travel away from the lands of any of the clans, especially the Trikru and Ice Nation. Trikru’s Ton DC seemed to be one of the furthermost western settlements of the coalition and part of its importance lay in its positioning as a border station to prevent bandit invasions, which were rare but a concern for Lexa. From the long planning sessions before the mountain, Clarke had spent hours poring over maps with Lexa to determine the best course of action. After the mountain and the former Skaikru delinquents’ communal decision to leave Camp Jaha behind, Clarke led them beyond the former territory of the Mountain Men, circumnavigating the mountain and moving beyond the reaches of the coalition. Clarke had no doubt that Lexa knew of the “clan” living at the edge of her boundaries and sometimes wondered if Lexa knew that she was the chief of _Wankru_ and left them alone for this reason, or whether Lexa had eyes on them from afar as a potential bandit threat but lacked the troops and resources to take them out or colonise them. After all, it had been nearly four years since the mountain’s fall – three since she and her people left Camp Jaha – and Lexa’s people had little to no contact with the Ark during the year that Clarke and her _kru_ were still there. For all Lexa knew, Clarke could be long dead, or working merrily away in the medical bay with her mother in the Ark.

 

Fat chance of that.

\-----

**Then**

_Towards the end of a winter of discontent (Bellamy had read the tales of old writers when he was a boy and was desperately romantic still), tensions between the Arkers and the 49 (including Clarke and Lincoln) bubbled again. Throughout the desperately cold period, Clarke and Bellamy worked hard as advocates for whom they saw as “their people”. At times, it felt like the 49 were being asked to pay homage to their “betters”, just like the gods of old in Bellamy’s old plays from even older civilisations than the ones of which they had been taught. The rumbling resentments began to rise again as the days slowly began to lengthen and the Arkers began to emerge from their self-imposed hibernations within the skeleton of the Ark. The Arkers were not actually helpless and some among them began to join the hunts and teams that the 49 had inaugurated, learning some of the skills necessary for survival. A new ark council had been elected, one on which none of the original hundred, including Clarke, were welcomed to be part of; their “criminal status” excluded them from the supposed “democratic process” and their leaders – Clarke and Bellamy - were not viable candidates for leadership. In fact, Kane made a point of appointing members of the old Ark guard as “guardians” for the 49 while they went about their newly assigned duties, some as cleaners and labourers. Abby masterminded a “bunkhouse” in which the delinquents would be housed with curfews and restrictions._

_Bellamy and Clarke railed against these restrictions and, for her part, Clarke’s relationship with her mother worsened to the point whereby Clarke refused work in the med bay. Payment for this transgression was five lashes with a shock stick._

_Clarke lay, almost unconscious, in the bunkhouse after refusing her mother’s treatment after her punishment while Lincoln laid soothing salves made from roots he had scavenged along the five angry strips that spread in criss-cross formation from her shoulder blades to below her ribs. The guard who had performed the punishment had been particularly outspoken about his distrust of the 49 and of Clarke as a “dissenter” in particular._

_The door of the bunkhouse clicked open as Octavia, Bellamy and Raven entered the dimly lit space. Raven crouched awkwardly at Clarke’s side and her expression darkened when she saw the wounds on Clarke’s back._

_“I don’t get it.” She shook her head. “Ungrateful bastards! Where do they get off?” Octavia grabbed her shoulder and squeezed it and Raven visibly calmed under her touch, placing her own hand over Octavia’s while Lincoln shushed them both gently. Bellamy clenched his jaw and held back the tears as best he could. He and Clarke had only become closer in the months since Mount Weather and their dependence on each other as separate arms of the same leadership machine became more and more apparent to the rest of the 49, although Clarke was almost revered for her unconditional rescue of them from the clutches of Cage Wallace. Bellamy was totally cool with this, knowing that his friend had a determination and ability to make the tough decisions that he didn’t possess. He may have pulled that lever with her, but the idea was all hers. He would never have conceived of it, and he admired her for her ruthless ability to do so, without criticism._

_Seeing his best friend in her current state both upset him and angered him and his heart couldn’t decide which emotion should win. He figured both. Despite their initial clashes and the selfishness that he had confessed to Clarke was one of his greatest regrets, Bellamy had grown to love Clarke like his own sister and, despite the obvious independence and capability of both women, he would still die for either of them in a heartbeat. In fact, there was little he wound not do for any of his friends. The fact that Clarke’s own mother had ordered this beating in order to preserve her own power made him sick. Something had to give._

_The door opened again. This time it was Abby, with Kane behind her. Octavia’s hand moved to where her sword lay sheathed at her back and Lincoln stood to his full, intimidating height._

_“I wish to speak with my daughter. Alone.” Silence. Abby glared imperiously around the room in a futile attempt to intimidate. “Unless more of you wish for the punishment that Clarke has taken.” Her tone was harsh. Raven’s speed, even with her leg brace, was astounding. At the last moment, Bellamy succeeded in engulfing her in his arms._

_“Motherfu..mmmm”. He wrapped his hand over Raven’s mouth._

_“Chancellors”, he intoned coldly. Circumstances over the past eleven or so months since Mount Weather– and Abby’s obvious resentment for the power her daughter held – had taught him the fine line between insolence and obedience and his tone tread this line carefully. “Clarke is resting and should not be disturbed. Her body has suffered trauma, as you know Dr. Griffin. She needs to sleep.”_

_“I am well aware of the workings of the human body, Mr. Blake. You would do well to step back.” Abby stepped forward menacingly, her hand on the shock stick at her belt. Kane tensed nervously at her side._

_“Guys, it’s okay. Let the Chancellor through.” A weak voice filtered through the tension from the bed of furs in the corner. Clarke’s damaged skin seemed to weep and glisten in the candlelight. With a groan, she turned her face towards the crowd and opened her eyes slowly. Kane tried to follow but was stopped firmly by Octavia._

_“Clarke said to let the Chancellor through. She didn’t say you,” she ground out through her teeth._

_“Say what you came to say.” Clarke’s voice was hoarse and, although weak, contained a steel coldness that was clear to everyone in the room._

_Abby walked to the bed and Lincoln tensed at Clarke’s side. Abby ignored him as her shadow fell over the body of the young woman below her. “I have come to ensure that you have acknowledged your punishment and the error of your ways, Clarke. You are my daughter but insubordination from these young people cannot be tolerated. We had to make an example and now you must submit to the rule of the people voted for in our community.” She paused and seemed to consider her next words._

_“I love you Clarke. As your mother, I do not want to see you hurt, but as Chancellor to our people, I expect you at your post in 48 hours in the med bay.”_

_Clarke closed her eyes again and turned her head away from the scrutiny of the room. The line was drawn. A tear rolled down her cheek as she prepared her next words as the tension grew behind her._

_“With no due respect, Chancellor, go float yourself. I will not heal people who do not recognise my people as being their own. And speaking for myself, I have no mother. She died when she killed my father and I am glad to see the back of her. Lock me up if you want.”_

_Abby’s eyes widened in shock before her expression took on a mask of impassiveness. “Councillor Kane, please see to it that Clarke is placed in confinement in 48 hours once her wounds have sufficiently healed and until she acknowledges the error of her ways.”_

_“Abby-“_

_“See to it, Councillor. The criminals in our community must learn to be productive members of society. Even if we are related to them.” With that, she swept from the room. A visibly shocked Kane glanced from face to face looking for some sign that there was room for negotiation. He was met with nothing encouraging. Dropping his gaze, he left the room in Abby’s wake._

_Bellamy rubbed his hand over his eyes and looked at the others in the room. “Now what?”_

_A voice floated from the bed again. “Now we plan. It’s time to leave. Spread the word amongst our people. The Skaikru are no longer ours to worry for. We have our own people to look after.”_

_The mood lifted. Hearing Clarke’s pronouncement, Octavia smiled wanly and fist bumped Raven, who in turn looked simultaneously terrified and determined. Lincoln looked worriedly to Bellamy, who nodded his agreement._

_“It’s time.”_

_As it turned out, the departure of the 49 – plus Kyle Wick and Sergeant Miller, who declared that their loyalties lay with those who knew what the hell they were doing – was a relatively simple affair. Sergeant Miller’s high-level access to the Ark’s weapon store and Raven and Monty’s unfettered access to the tech and chemicals that Clarke planned for them to take with them meant that, within less than 36 hours, the 49-plus friends had stockpiled their supplies and formulated an exit strategy that would show them attempt a peaceful departure in the first instance. If they faced resistance, however, they were prepared._

\-----

**Now**

The trek to the old airport hangar was not long. Clarke packed efficiently, removing items of clothing and collecting dried meat and scavenged fruits from the stores for the journey. _Wankru_ did not yet have enough horses to use for a mounted militia, but they were working on it. Turns out, hay was a pretty low-impact crop to grow and, once you had the knowledge, horses were relatively easy to keep when compared with any forms of livestock. So, Clarke had decided early on that they would work on developing their supply of healthy mounts instead of meat. Monty’s algae breakthrough helped her to make that decision easily. Now, _Wankru_ boasted a herd of fifteen, three of whom were too young yet to mount. Lincoln and others had trained the adult mounts, however, which meant that any expeditions could now use horses to carry their supplies and equipment. During the first year of the settlement, an outcast family from the horse clan approached the settlement too – a former warrior, his wife and four children (one of whom bore the impact of radiation upon his body in the form of scars and what Clarke knew used to be known as a harelip). Very usefully indeed, the horse clan warrior promised to select and train a team of grooms and mounted militia who, in the long term, would be able to protect the camp. He was a great teacher and Clarke herself was a great student. She adored the huge animals and, under the insistence of her team and followers, accepted a trained warhorse as her personal mount. She named him Fluffy. She and Fluffy had become a formidable fighting team.

 

Clarke strapped her worn leather saddle bags to Fluffy’s harness while cooing loudly in his ear as he nudged her affectionately and snuffled in her ear.

“Not today, big dude. Maybe I can scrounge something tasty for you tomorrow, but you know we are all on necessary rations. That includes you, you big oaf.” As Clarke mounted her horse, a horn sounded from the eastern signal post – the one that faced a distant Mount Weather. Clarke rapidly turned her horse and gazed east as one of her scouts – a teen girl from the Stone Clan called Miyan – sprinted towards her. She skidded to a halt, gasping for breath.

“Wanheda, a rider. Trikru. Flag of peace.” Clarke frowned. This was a first. She was sure that Lexa and, therefore Indra as current leader of Trikru, knew where they were, but until now they had not attempted contact and left her people be. This was not a good sign.

“How many?”

“Two, Wanheda.”

“Tell the sentries I am coming. I will meet them at our border. Stop them there.”

“ _Sha, Wanheda.”_  Miyan took off back in the same direction. Clarke’s stomach dropped as Bellamy stumbled sleepily from his hut and made his way towards Clarke.

“Was that the eastern sentry?” Clarke couldn’t help but chuckle at his wide-eyed confusion at being woken so soon into his post-shift sleep.

“Yep. Trikru, apparently.”

“Fuck.”

“Yep.”

“Hop on, Bell.”

Bellamy secured the daggers he was carrying in his belt and nimbly climbed onto Fluffy’s back behind Clarke and held on to her waist. “Let’s go, boss.”

Clarke kicked her heels and rode steadily to the outpost, wondering why Indra – or maybe Lexa – had chosen to make contact after all this time.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic and the narrative voice is a bit all over the place. Similarly, the tone of how I am writing is probably going to be muddled as well as I experiment more and try out new voices, perspectives and styles. I apologise for this in advance! I am currently studying for a doctoral degree and write academically all the time. So I apologise if the tone is at times really formal and imperious. I will work on it!! I will also try my best to reply to comments and update regularly, but my research is intense sometimes there may be periods where I am really quiet. Again, apologies in advance for this!! Not beta'd and sometimes proof-read. Sorry! 
> 
> Chapters will vary in length too, most likely, as I will post shorter ones if I am struggling to find time. 
> 
> Thanks for reading :-)


End file.
